Of Death, Life and Finding Strength
by Laser Lance 720
Summary: The question wasn't if Draco had it in him to commit murder, but if he had the strength to defy the orders of a madman, and survive the consequences of his disobedience. It wasn't about dying a hero, or living a villain, but about finding a light in the consuming darkness. Written for Prompt Mania Challenge


Done for the Prompt Mani Challenge, level two (Medium: Choose one prompt from each category)

The four prompts selected were as follows:  
_Song_: Lights by Ellie Goudling- _Color_: Cherry- _Quote_: "You better not screw this up"- _Random_: Candid

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters present, or the challenge for that matter. None of this can be claimed by me, other than the story line and the way in which I have written this. Those two things I can take credit for. Not that they get me very far.

**WARNING**: This was not intended to come out as dark or violent as it did. At first, it was just a normal 'What If' piece. Somewhere along those lines, we got a bit darker near the end. I am not sure how it happened, I blame the fact that I was writing this at one in the morning on an empty stomach. Anyways, I must warn for some violence that comes in down the road. It is nothing too graphic, but I wanted to give the heads up in case that needed to be trigger warned.

_And I'm not sleeping now,  
the dark is too hard to beat,  
and I'm not keeping up,  
the strength I need to push me.  
-Lights by Ellie Goudling  
_

He should have known it would never have been so easy. What did he expect? That he would walk in front of the Dark wizard and his army, bare his arm to be marked, and be done with it. That by the end of the school year he would have followed enough orders to have his mother's life spared? Done enough evil to warrant his father's release from prison? He was selling his soul to a Cross Roads demon in return for his parent's safety.

He should have expected the Devil to toy with him.

Yet, none of that had been on his mind whenever his aunt had violently shoved him into the room hissing into his ears "_You better not screw this up_", before depositing him at the feet of her master. The only concern on Draco's mind had been his mother, standing off in the distance of the spacious room, her hands clamped tightly in front of her, fear dancing through her eyes. She seemed to be fighting the urge to break away from the Death Eaters she stood beside, embrace her son, and carry him from the room before he could be allowed to be corrupted. She didn't, and Draco was thankful for that. If she had moved, had tried to stop this in any way…

"I am growing impatient, Draco."

The voice, cold like a snake sent a shiver down the sixteen year olds spine as he was snapped from the vile thoughts of what could become of his mother if they did not tread carefully. Draco's gaze quickly left the face of his mother, and looked down the straight spiral of his wand, and the presents kneeling before him.

He was yanked back into reality, the demand that had been placed before him coming back into his mind, burrowing deeply into his conscious as to not allow him to forget what he was considering doing. Voldemort moved around him, hissing under his breath as impatience burned through his veins. Draco paid no mind to the Dark Lord, and how could he, when he such a task before him.

The man kneeling down didn't move or speak, his eyes staring forward and lacking the pleading shine Draco expected to see when one was confronted with death. He didn't know the man's name, only knew they the elder had somehow defied Voldemort, and now it was in his hands to dish out punishment. He could not do it though, could not say the words to end this man's life and that scared him.

He should have been proud. Proud that he was strong enough not to give into the darkness that the world already assumed had taken him. He wasn't though. He was scared, scared because he knew what it meant if he could not fulfill this demand. It would be the end of not only him, but his mother as well. This was not something that he could allow to happen.

"I do not have time for these games." The voice slithered inches from his ears. A sharp pressure became present against his cheek, as Voldemort placed the tip of his wand against skin, effectively cocking Draco's head to the side. "I asked you to do something. Are you unable to do so?"

"No my Lord." Draco answered instantly, his own wand shaking, and stormy eyes locked onto the kneeling man, who only continued to stare at him with a look that resembled pity. Draco wanted to slap that expression from the man's eyes. How dare he look at him as such? The man was on his knees, his life placed into Draco's hands, the least he could do was attempt to look unnerved. As it was, Draco was shaking more so than the unnamed man before him.

"Well then," Voldemort's voice was as cold as ever. The wand was removed from Draco's cheek, leaving a tingling sensation in its wake. "I suggest you get on with it. I am a busy man, and do not have time, nor the patience to wait."

"Yes, my Lord." Draco answered mechanically. He attempted to stop the shaking of his arm. At one instance he felt like he had accomplished that small task, only to realize that he had not stopped the appendage from shaking, but now his whole body was vibrating on a level so slight that it could not be seen. He tried to shut it down, tried to get ahold of himself, but he couldn't.

Cursing himself, Draco bit down on his lips, willing the words to come. He knew the words, damn it. He had heard them so many times over the last few months, he should know them. The Unforgivable Curses slipped from the tongues of the Death Eaters as easy as if they were merely asking for jam to go with their toast. Draco, however could not get the words to come.

Only after squaring his gaze with the man he had been demanded to kill, did Draco realize why he was having such a difficult time filling the command. The man's gaze, which had once been blank and staring into the wall, was not encouraging, as if to tell the sixteen year old that he did not blame him for any of this.

Draco couldn't do it. Couldn't be the cause for the light in the man's eyes to dim.

Draco was arrogant, yes. Vindictive, was in his nature. It was in his blood to be malicious and merciless. But he was not a monster. He was not the cruel, heartless monster who could strike down a defensive human being. Especially not one that was kneeling down at his feet. He didn't have it in him.

That scared him, because as he lowered his wand, refusing to meet his mother's eyes, he knew what was to come from his disobedience. The silence in the room was broken only by a sigh that sounded both relieved and fearful from his mother. And the Dark Lord's heavy breaths as he tried to reign in the temper that was rising through his blood. The dark wizard's fingers clenched and unclenched in the air, what he was grasping for was beyond any of them.

"I can't do it." Draco whispered, more so to confirm his actions to himself than the infuriated wizard to his left.

'What?"

"I won't do it." Draco's voice was like steel. "I won't kill him."

He had been candid in his short speech as he directed a stormy gaze through narrowed slatted eyes upon the Dark Lord. He was truthful and frank in his words, not carrying how blunt he sounded. Hearing those words spoken in his voice sent a wave of courage through Draco's veins.

Whatever courage may have molded into his heart shattered the instant that the green light passed towards him. Bracing for what he figured to be his last breaths, he found himself sick at the relief that passed over him, as the deadly curse struck down the kneeling man, instead of him. Without being given time to requester what had taken place, Voldemort was in front of him in an instant, his white knuckled hand wrapped into the silk of Draco's button down shirt. The fabric threated to rip as the Dark Lord yanked the lean teen towards him. Even the breath that came from the man's lips was cold and reptile like.

"I don't remember this being an option." Voldemort hissed. "I gave you an order. When I give an order, you do it."

Draco wanted to counter back, informing the man that it would be difficult to fulfill the task now that that his target was already dead. He bit back the snarky comments, knowing that it would do nothing to improve his case. He had made his choice; a foolish choice considering the lives that hung in balance, and the room full of Death Eaters who seemed all too eager to get their hands on him, but a choice none the less. He had to ride this out, and as he had learned with dealing with his father's temper, it was best not to added additional difficulties to the ever growing crisis which had become his life.

"I have half the mind to kill you where you stand, boy." Voldemort's voice was harsher than prior, if that were even possible. "I do not have room for weakness in my ranks. Why I expected anything different from you is beyond me. I should have seen how weak you are. Just like your father."

After a pause, Voldemort smirked. "That would be too easy. Death isn't a sufficient enough punishment. I will make you regret this transgression boy. But first, I think I will begin with that mother of yours."

Defiance clung to Draco's gaze. He was a Malfoy, a poor excuse for one, but a Malfoy none the less. And damn it, Malfoy's did not bend the knee to anyone. Especially not sick, twisted bastards who threatened his family. Self-preservation maybe a fundamental building block in the mind of most Slytherin's, but the protective nature inside them was even greater. The bond between Draco and his mother, the care he felt towards the woman who had raised him, was enough to silence the voice in Draco's mind that pleaded for him to close his mouth and beg forgiveness (an action that just wasn't in his nature).

"You will not touch her." The snarl of Draco's voice managed to loosen Voldemort's grip on him ever so slightly. The Dark Wizard clearly hadn't been expecting such boldness from the child he had previously thought a spineless coward. Had the boy's rage not been directed where it was, Voldemort might have been proud of the murderous gleam that turned Draco's glare from merely clouded to a raging storm. "Do what you want with me, but don't touch her."

"You are in no position to make demands, boy." Voldemort replied with a snarl that made Draco's sound like the call of a lost kitten. "I will do as I please with both you and your mother."

Draco, clearly no longer in full control of his mind or actions, made to raise his wand. It was foolish, more so than anything he had done in the last few hours, but he no longer cared. If he had to fight every Death Eater in that room to protect his mother, than he would take that weight onto his shoulders. A fight never came though, as Voldemort's hand landed a powerful smack against the boy's cheek.

It was such a Muggle attack, one full of enough brutal force to send Draco toppling onto the ground. He landed painfully just feet from the still fresh corpse; the man's blank stare taunting Draco at what was to soon become of him. Red clung to Draco's gaze, and only after lifting his hand to his nose, did he realize that it may possibly be broken. The pain was intense, as cherry red blood dripped onto the marble floor.

The thought of his broken nose was lost at the sound of more bone's crunching. Voldemort, despite being barefoot, proved to have enough power in his stride, to snap the delicate bones in Draco's smallest finger. The Slytherin did not let out a scream though in response. He was used to pain, used to excessive punishments. He had learned to bit back yelps of distress and tears of agony years ago. This was nothing new. He would not allow the man the satisfaction that this was clearly bringing him.

His mother on the other hand, was pleading desperately in the background. Her appeals fell on deaf ears as Voldemort shifted his foot about, sending ripples of pain through the hand he stood on. Biting his lip, drawing even more cherry colored blood, Draco turned his gaze onto his mother (the woman flanked by Death Eaters with tight grips on her arms), sending her what he wished to be a reassuring smile. His view was distorted whenever Voldemort bent down, snatching a handful of blonde hair into his hands, and using the force to pull Draco's face towards him.

"I am going to enjoy this." Voldemort hissed, excitement in his voice. "You my boy, have just found yourself in the unfortunate position of being my new toy. It's a shame though, I doubt I'll be able to get much out of you. Might as well enjoy what I can."

Voldemort shoved at his head, cracking the boy's skull into the ground. The world spun, and grew quite fuzzy. For a split second, he was thankful for the attack. While brutal, and holding the risk of bringing about a concussion, he knew that whatever blows he would be dealt next, would be dulled in ever the slightest by the fogginess in his mind. However, the pain from the first blow was intense indeed.

When the curse hit, seconds after a _Crucio_ was screamed into the air, Draco lost all concern for the throbbing pain behind his temples. Years of physical attacks from his father had not prepared him for this. A thousand knifes cutting into his flesh. A hundred blades slicing his skin from his bones. Every drop of blood in his body burst, and sizzled through his veins. A thousand feet his body seemed to plummet down only to be ripped apart by the jagged rocks below. He knew none of this to be true. He wasn't being sliced and diced, or thrown from the air. He was on the floor of his own home, clawing at the blood stained marble for some form of release.

The release came mere moments after the curse struck. In those seconds it had done its damage, leaving Draco gasping to refill his lungs with air. His wand was no longer in his hand; that was the first thing he noticed as the fog of pain lifted. It had rolled a short ways away, discarded and out of reach. His mother's cries graced the air, still pleading for her son's safety.

It killed Draco to hear her cry like that. It killed him to know that it was all his fault. In his inability to kill, he had condemned him and his mother to an even worst fate. Part of him wondered, through the pain and fear, if she was proud of him though for his moral strength. Over the last few months; the last few years, she had been subtly making comments towards Lucius's association with the Death Eater. She had kept him by her side a great deal, dragging him along any time she left the home, almost as if she had been unwilling to leave him behind with his father and the company he kept.

The conversation mother and son had shared days prior made so much more sense to him now.

"_I don't want this for you, Draco_." Her voice had been so soft, a strange comparison to the mad howls that now racked her body. "_You are so good. Promise me that you won't fall victim to our mistakes."_

He had promised of course, it was all he could do at the time. Watching her now, the regal queen fighting brutally against the hold on her, hair wild, nails digging for flesh, he wondered if this was what she meant.

Any further thoughts on the subject were ripped from his mind as the assault began anew. It was the same curse as before, this time a thousand times more potent. He didn't understand why anyone would use this curse; why anyone would invite this curse. How the Death Eaters could use it so willy nilly on their enemies was beyond him, and if this was the people they were fighting against, Draco felt his heart go out to the Light.

The Unforgivable Curse stopped, only to be replaced by a handful of wordless curses; which while less painful, proved to cause much more physical damage. Instead of merely feeling as if a thousand knifes were ripping into his flesh and searing through his bones, Draco was quickly aware that a thousand knifes were indeed tearing into his skin. His button down was now missing several buttons, hanging off his blood marred torso by just a few strands of fabric. His trousers were torn and singed. His feet sat in a puddle of blood, which caked onto his shoes and legs. Blood ran heavy from him, in a stream of red that reminded him of cherry syrup.

It was unnerving the way the blood flowed from him so easily. He pondered how long it would be before he lost too much blood for his body to coup with the abuse. The worry was not long in his mind, as any thought other than the Dark Lord beside him was ripped from his mind as once more thin, blood stained hands took ahold of his hair.

"How are you holding up?" The tone in Voldemort's voice was one of mock concern. His sick smile only grew at the raspy breath that struggled to come from Draco's lips. "I must give you some credit. I figured you would have been begging by now."

"I… won't…" Draco had a rough time trying to get the words to come out. What he had managed to speak, came out in muttered phrases which only managed to anger Voldemort further. The Dark Lord let go of his hair.

Digging his wand into the boy's shoulder blades, he muttered the curse once more. The pain that rippled through his body left a deep scream ripping from his throat. The curse sunk deeper into his bones than prior, taking advantages of the cuts that littered over his body. It was unbearable, the only thing louder than Draco's screams, were the pleas of his mother.

The pain stopped.

Voldemort's hand was placed between Draco's shoulder blades, the cool touch burning against his abused skin. Draco had to bite back a wince as the man's nails traveled down his spine. "Now, I want you to scream for me again."

The nails dug into his skin. In response, Draco crawled at the ground, refusing to make eye contact with his tormentor. Angered by not getting the results he wished, Voldemort dug his nails deeper, managing to draw more blood to add to the mess that matted along his back.

"I want you to scream Malfoy." Voldemort hissed. "Before I lose my patience with this game and am forced to find another toy."

Voldemort's voice trailed off, and Draco didn't need to see where the man was gazing to know what he was thinking. "Don't… don't you… touch her…"

"You are in no room to make demands boy." Voldemort continued to drag his nails over Draco's battered skin.

"Leave… her… alone." The words were muttered by the blood on his lips.

"And who are you to make demands." Voldemort snickered, rising to his feet. Draco was relieved when the presence was removed from beside him, until he saw where the Dark Lord was now standing.

"Don't…" Draco fought to rise, unable to do so. "Please."

Voldemort didn't respond to the boy. Instead, he wrapped his bony fingers around Narcissa's chin, drawing her face up towards hers. Draco could only stare; fear for his mother's safety overtaking his concern for himself. Voldemort's mouth moved slowly, what he was whispering into the woman's ear unclear to the teen bleeding on the floor. From the look of anxiety setting into Narcissa's ebony stare, it was clear that whatever he was saying, wasn't good.

Unable to stay down much longer, Draco began crawling towards where his wand lay. As he moved, his limps felt on fire, blood leaving a track behind him. Just before his fingers could wrap around the familiar wood of his wand, the Unforgivable Curse shot through his system once more.

He screamed, it was the only thing that he could do. Pain was so intense in his system, the he could no longer find the focus to see where his wand lay. He only screamed, no longer caring of appearing strong for either him or his mother's sake.

There was no strength left in him to push him further. The darkness was setting over him quickly, as the effects of the curse worsened. He could feel it, the curse attacking at his spine, and breaking it where he lay. He couldn't keep up with the pain anymore, his mind attempting to shut out the hurt, and sink into the unconscious sleep that was eluding him.

Had Draco not been screaming so loud, he would have heard the sound of breaking glass. Crystal glass rained down around them, falling like thin snow onto the ground. A layer of sharp glass snow fluttered down onto Draco, blanketing him as the pain ceased. He fought for breath, noticing the mess that had been caused by an outburst of his magic. He smirked slightly at the sight of the damage he had been able to cause without truly trying. It had brought him great trouble as a child, the accidental magic he never seemed able to control. Even after beginning Hogwarts, and learning how to center his magical core, there always seemed a pot of untouched magic, desperate to release itself. For once, the surge of accidental magic, and the damage it left behind, was welcomed.

Especially whenever he noticed what had become of the Death Eaters. Many of them were scrambling on the ground, holding bleeding appendages from where the glass had cut. Voldemort himself had stumbled back a few steps, dark blood trailing over his pale skin from a cut in his forehead.

Narcissa seemed the only one untouched as she raced towards him; bundling up her skirt in one hand, and gripping her wand tightly with the other. As the Death Eaters made to move towards her, she sent a harsh attack back, knocking several of them back in a bloody mess. Draco was impressed by the sheer force and violence in his mother's attacks. He never would have imagined her capable of such an assault.

After casting one more curse; this one barely missing Voldemort, Narcissa dropped onto her knees beside her son. Letting go of the hem of her skirt, she took ahold of Draco's shoulder, holding tight enough to send a shiver of pain down the teen's spine. Her other hand reached out to snatch his discarded wand, but that was not his focus as the tug of Disapparation pulled at him.

He remembered how much he had hated Disapparating with his parents as a kid. The feel of his stomach being thrown out through his mouth, while being squeezed through the smallest of key holes. The sensation was worst considering the ache that already clung to his every movement. As they vanished from the Manor, he could vaguely feel the resistance from what remained of the wards trying to hold them back.

The feeling of Disapparation was gone as soon as it began.

The cold marble floor was replaced with soft, sweet smelling grass; a layer of fresh dew clinging to the plants. A cool breeze swept over them, ruffling the torn fabric of Draco's clothes. He could feel his mother clinging to his shoulders, whispering words of comfort as she stroked his hair. In the short distance, he could make out a rather large house, a light tan against the dark sky. From the direction of the home, came rushing two people that Draco didn't know.

The first was a man, rather tall, and sporting a rounded belly on him. His face was unclear through the tears that still hung in Draco's eyes, but the look of concern and worry jumped from the blue that Draco could see of his eyes. The sight of the woman sent a wave of fear through him. Her black hair was tied into a low ponytail, the wild curls jutting out from where it was tied. Her frame was thin, skin as pale as death shown under her dull blue dress as she reached towards them.

Despite the pain that came from his actions, Draco withdrew from the woman. He tried to crawl away, pushing himself into his mother's chest in fear of the woman before him. Narcissa wrapped her arms around him, careful not to cause more injury than had already been inflicted onto her son. She tried to hush him, whispering that they were safe; desperate to make both of them to believe such.

"Draco," Narcissa whispered into his ear. "You are safe my, little Dragon. You are safe. We both are."

"Please." Draco only stared at the familiar looking woman kneeling in front of him and his mother. "Don't hurt her."

"Draco." Narcissa took his chin carefully in her hand. She pulled his face towards her, fighting back the internal pain at the broken light in her son's eyes. Suddenly realizing his fears, she sighed. "She's not... Draco listen to me. Listen. She is not Bellatrix. This is Andromeda. My sister."

"I won't hurt you." Andromeda whispered, her voice full of a compassion that was not found in Bellatrix's. "I promise you that. What happened Cissa? Why is he-"

"It is a long story." Narcissa sighed, her hands absentmindedly running through the blood mattered mess which was Draco's hair. "Please. He's bleeding-"

"I've got him." The man nodded. He knelt down, offering to take one of Draco's arms. "The names Ted. Ted Tonks. I won't hurt you. Or your mother. I just want to help. Both of us do."

The Slytherin watched him carefully, and after a moment he allowed himself to lean into the man's arms. Be it exhaustion, or sheer lack of care at this point, Draco allowed the man to lift him to his feet. He was unsteady, his knees shaky from blood loss. Biting back the vile building into his throat, he fought to gain stability.

Narcissa placed herself at Draco's other side, draping his arm over her shoulder to help support him. She smiled at her son, realizing in that instance how tall he had gotten over the years. Under the blood that matted his face, there still remained the handsome, youthful face of Draco Malfoy. The intelligent shine of his eyes was coming back slowly as the tears dried from his cheeks. Squeezing him loosely, she helped lead him down the path towards the home.

Her gaze never left him and it was only once they reached the doorway of the home did Narcissa whisper five little words that made Draco smile, really smile, for the first time in hours: "I'm so proud of you."

-oOo-  
-oOo-  
-oOo-

Well, there you go. Not that bad of a torture. Nothing too graphic. At least, I think. My ideas of what's graphic, and what isn't has kind of been altered after so many late night gory movie marathons.

As for this piece, I really wanted Draco to not side with Voldemort. I get why he did it. His whole life has been filled with these ideas of pure blood supremacy, his father has most likely told him for years that he would become a Death Eater, he wants to make his parents proud, and I'm pretty sure Voldemort used Narcissa as a hostage. Did you not hear him in the sixth book? If he didn't complete the mission Voldemort was going to kill them all. If I were in his position; sixteen and holding the lives of my parents in my choices, I would have stuck my arm out and called it a day. Not all of us can be Hermione Granger; erasing our parent's memories and beating Death Eaters with text books.

But, for this Draco does not partake in the initiation ceremony, and doesn't become a Death Eater. To think that he would just have to bare his arm, get a tattoo and be done with it seemed a little bit of a cheat. There would have been some kind of test. Killing seems to be a thing Death Eaters like, so why not go with that. As we have seen though, Draco is not a killer. If he was, he would have killed Dumbledore, and maybe even Harry in the Room of Requirements. Instead, he had a conversation with the Headmaster (almost lowered his wand), and then later didn't even bother to really fight Harry as all he wanted was his own wand back. Draco is not a killer, especially not when asked to kill some innocent guy for no reason other than Voldemort wanted him to.

No killing for Draco. He's a brave boy. I know he gets a lot of crap for being a coward, but think about this. He took on an impossible task, walked straight into a war at sixteen, and did everything to protect the people he cared about. There's more to bravery than openly throwing curses at the bad guys. Of course he does confuse courage and bravery with fear a few times through here (the mind of a Slytherin?).

Another thing of headcanon interest, is that I don't think Cissa was really too big on the whole Death Eater thing at this point. She's already lost most contact with one sister due to pureblood views, her other sister was lost to Dark Magic, her husband was in jail due to the Death Eaters, she wasn't going to just let her son be corrupted and pulled into the ranks as well. I mean, come on. This is Narcissa Malfoy. The woman who lied to the Dark Lord, just on the off chance that her son may still be alive in the school and in need of her rescue. She loves her son, she does (Anyone who opposes this idea, I have a small essay that will outline why Narcissa is a loving mother, especially in the environment that they are in, if you wish to read) and isn't going to give him up. Reason A, B, and C, as to why she wouldn't want him to be a Death Eater.

Besides, I feel like by time the seventh book came around, the Malfoy's followed Voldemort more for their own safety than any desires to kill Muggleborns. Except Lucius. Lucius I feel really did enjoy being a Death Eater. Not so much after the trip to Azkaban, but he still enjoyed it. Maybe I'm being too mean to him, that my view towards him in blindsided by the anger towards him. But as for Cissa and Draco, I feel they were only there to keep one another safe.

That's just my views though. Of course, you may think otherwise, and that is totally okay. This is just my view on the matter.

I hope you enjoyed this either way. It was a great fun to write; even with all the snags that came up while working. I really did have fun with this.

_Fine_.


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